


Worth Looking After

by Lalaen



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, M/M, Suicide, serious fucking sads
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-13
Updated: 2013-12-13
Packaged: 2018-01-04 12:38:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1081106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lalaen/pseuds/Lalaen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The logical part of you knows you don't need to be so protective any more. He's a crack shot, a shockingly quick thinker, and fast on his feet. He's saved your ass at least as many times as you've saved his, thanks to your tendency to run headfirst into trouble and his to run after you to make sure you get out of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Worth Looking After

**Author's Note:**

> I was originally talked into reading the manga when my friend told me there was a serious lack of Reibert porn.
> 
> This is not the fic I came into this fandom to write.
> 
> I'm so fucking sorry.

It's been hours, and all you've done is watch him sleep. You're far past the point where that makes you feel like a bad guy - it did during the teenage years of confused sexuality, but you feel as guilt free about it now as you did when you were an innocent little kid.

Anyways, it might be your last chance to see him so peaceful. Even though you know him best, peace comes to him rarely. He's always been that way, though to say he hasn't gotten exponentially worse with age would be a lie you can't even tell yourself.

Bert is warm, and in the for-now safety of this abandoned attic apartment; it's only too tempting to lay back down next to him. You know you can't afford to, not right now, but you can't quite bring yourself to stand either. You let your hand fall heavily to his thin waist instead, and you can feel him breathing under your palm.

This is the best spot you've found since your friends drove you away. The warehouse you spent a week in was not only too cold, but open and empty. The groans of the horde outside reverberated and echoed. It was louder than the nights you spent outside in the trees, and Bert couldn't sleep. Normally he slept like a rock; at least when you were there, but in in that warehouse he tossed and turned and murmured in his sleep like a little kid.

You thought it was cute.

Honestly, you wish you could go back. You miss those guys, and honestly you had more fun times with them than you'd had in a damn long time, even before the outbreak. It was nice to have more than one person at your back on a supply raid, though you know you're the one he's still single-mindedly looking out for. He's always been getting you out of scrapes, ever since you were little kids. When you were running in that pack, it was nice to know that while you were looking out for everyone else, he was looking out for you.

It was three years, and you wish it'd been longer. You're a guy who likes to have friends, who likes to joke around. You wouldn't trade your silent and constant companion for the world, but there was nothing like joking around with a big group of guys. You know that was never Bert's deal, but you're not stupid enough not to realize that he was always pretty content when you were having fun; and though he might not do well in groups he certainly enjoyed a quiet conversation with Armin. You found that shit pretty boring if you got caught in the middle of it.

You thought they wouldn't find out. Honestly, you'd never really lied. You'd never meant them any harm. Neither you nor Bert were ever happy about what the military made you do, and you were pretty damn sure neither of you had ever intended on going back. Not that they'd even take you after you defected. Fat chance.

Jean, you could've convinced. You know you could've. He had that distraught look of his, the one he always had when shit went down. He had a good head on his shoulders, he was reasonable, and it was pretty clear he wasn't excited about sending you to die.

Eren was the one that fucked that up - impulsive, angry Eren. Maybe his passion was one of his better qualities. You know it's one you've admired in the past.

He certainly couldn't be reasoned with in that state, and he wasn't about to let you reason with anyone else either.

He even managed to get a rare rise out of Bertholdt, something that honestly startled you. You still don't know why you threw your arm out in front of him; like you'd have to stop him from doing something, what a laugh. It was an instinct to be in front of him, shielding him, whenever something went wrong. One step ahead, bumping back against his chest, his harsh, worried breathing in your ear.

The logical part of you knows you don't need to be so protective any more. He's a crack shot, a shockingly quick thinker, and fast on his feet. He's saved your ass at least as many times as you've saved his, thanks to your tendency to run headfirst into trouble and his to run after you to make sure you get out of it.

When you think about it like that, you're proud of him. You remember the little crybaby you met as a kid, you remember thinking that this was someone you had to look after. 

Someone worth looking after.

You know he's not that kid now, but your instincts don't know how to stop. Even if it's the guys you'd until so recently called friends, you find yourself in front of him.

Bert had started getting worried as soon as Annie left. Of course, he'd started out worried, but it ramped up a good few degrees. You'd personally expected Annie to do exactly what she did. She'd always felt like she was better off alone, like anyone else was just holding her back.

Only a little while later, Marco died, and everyone had felt like shit had hit the fan.

Both of you got a little tongue tied when Armin accidentally came across your dog tags and Eren was suddenly trying to make you answer for every military bombing of civilian areas since the outbreak.

Christ, you're barely past twenty. As Bert had said - yelled - at the time, did anyone enjoy doing that kind of thing?

No. Hell no.

Seeing the betrayed expression on Armin's easy to read face was hard, almost harder than listening to Jaeger's screams of 'murderers!'.

In some ways, it was easier with just the two of them; but in most ways, it was a lot harder. When up against a horde, there wasn't much two guys could do, no matter how good they were at fighting. 

You wince as you pull off the hoodie that you'd gently dissuaded Bert from stripping off you before you fucked. It'd made you sweat like hell, but it'd been necessary.

You feel your face contort into a grimace as you peel back the rudimentary bandage you'd taped to your bicep. The wound was, of course, already necrotic, stinking and black. If you tried, you could trace dark, swollen veins all the way to your chest.

Fuck, you'd already cut it too close. What if you'd hurt him?

You lean over him, take him in one last time - his sleep and sex tousled hair, the way his lips are parted because he's always breathed through his mouth when he's asleep, his long dark eyelashes fluttering slightly as his eyes twitch in a dream. 

You hope it's a good dream.

You let your hand trace heavily over the back of his neck as you stand, and it causes you almost physical pain. You have to stop and squeeze your eyes shut, find your centre, push on.

Bertholdt thinks of you as his strength, it's plain as day. He might be surprised to know you're a little lost without him by your side too.

Your hand closes around the grip of the gun next to the dirty mattress you were calling a bed. It's just a 9mm, nothing big, just something to tide you over until you can get to your heavy artillery if something goes wrong.

You pop the clip against the heel of your hand, pulling out all of the bullets except one. Setting the extras on top of the old dresser, you slowly and methodically check the clip before pushing it back in. You know how to handle a gun. Your hands are shaking a little, and it makes you kick yourself.

C'mon, Reiner. Stop fucking around.

You almost look over your shoulder at him one last time, but you stop yourself. If you look back, you'll lose it, and you know that, so you push open the door to the next room before you can think any more.

As you sit yourself down in the corner, you remind yourself that it had to be this way. He would've tried to stop you, he would've gotten upset, and you didn't want that to be your last memory of him.

The naked expression on his face as you fucked him was a much nicer thought to have in your head as you cocked the cheap little handgun.

Your hands may be shaking now, but it's going to be impossible to miss.

Your only regret is that you won't be able to protect Bertholdt anymore.


End file.
